Le Misérable Beast
by bananashplito
Summary: Beauty and the Beast - Les Mis style! Valjean, an adventurous young tree pruner from the provinces, stumbles across the cursed castle of an ungenerous cold-hearted beast of a man. Hate gradually turns to love, but revolutionaries are stirring to take revenge on their past oppressor. Can Valjean break the curse before it is too late?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN** ** _LES MISÉRABLES_** **OR** ** _BEAUTY AND THE BEAST_** **, OR ANY CHARACTERS FROM EITHER STORY. NOR AM I MAKING ANY MONEY OUT OF THIS.**

 ** _Hi People! Obviously, I have to change a few details of both stories to make them work together. I hope that doesn't upset anyone! Please enjoy reading, and feel free to point out any mistakes I have very likely made._**

Once upon a time, there was a young prince who lived in a castle and presided over a small village. The prince was a strong but merciless ruler and his heart was cold as stone. The village was going through poor economic times, but the prince did nothing - he wouldn't allow them to become dependent on his aid. As a result, the people starved and discontent spread. A small group of rebels set up in a local pub and held meetings on how best to overthrow the tyrant, planning to run the village themselves and restore it to peace and prosperity. Before they could act, however, a girl knocked on the Prince's door. Her skin was withered as an old woman's, her hair was raggedly shorn and some of her teeth were missing.

"What do you want?" the Prince grumbled impatiently. He was busy planning the arrest of the rebels from the village. They were becoming far too vocal for his liking…

"Please, sir, my name is Fantine." murmured the girl weakly, drawing a thread-bare shawl about her thin shoulders to keep out the chill of the night. "Do you have any money to spare? My child is dying and I cannot afford a doctor."

The Prince sighed exasperatedly. "I have heard such stories as yours every day for 20 years. If I give you money it will doubtless be spent on alcohol and other trivial indulgences you people squander livings on. Leave me alone."

He turned to shut the door on her, but there was a flash of light and suddenly the woman was clean and healthy, with long flowing hair and a pure white gown. She seemed enveloped in a kind of glow. "You know no mercy, sir. Your heart is stone. I curse you to never feel joy again and to lose all you hold dear until you let it be of flesh." With those words, she disappeared.

Dense, monstrous thorns broke up out of the earth and swallowed up the village. The inhabitants fled. The sky darkened and the castle lost all cheerful aspect and became bleak and imposing. The Prince felt a terrible coldness come over him and he retreated inside, full of misery and rage, remaining isolated in that now desolated terrible place for the next ten years.

Far away from that castle was another small rural village, the inhabitants of whom were peaceful, dull, and simple folk. Amongst them was Jean Valjean - a humble young tree pruner. He lived in a tiny vicarage with a Bishop called Myriel, who had adopted Valjean at a young age. Valjean loved Myriel as though he was his father because he was good and very kind. Together they would distribute alms (though they had little themselves) to the poorest of the villagers, who were always immensely grateful.

Valjean was not content however. As he was strolling down the path to the centre of the village he said aloud "why am I not happy here? Is it not everything anyone could desire?" He looked about him at the fresh greenery, clean blue sky, and pure white chickens happily pecking at seeds in the nearby yard. He smelt the scent of baking bread and listened to the birdsong all about him. But Valjean felt a yearned for adventure. Something new. A place he had never seen before that made his heart race with excitement. Living in perfect serenity for too long leads to lassitude.

"Oh well…" sighed Valjean and smiled. "It will not do to be discontented on a day such as this." Enjoying the warmth on his skin he picked up his pace and was soon at the fountain in the town square. He bought a book from the impoverished bookstore owner, not only to be kind but because he also loved to read. He then completed the weekly grocery shop and was turning up the path to return home when he heard a voice calling his name.

Valjean recognised it. "Hello Enjolras." He sighed warily, turning to face the handsome and charismatic young man behind him.

"Why haven't you been attending the meetings, Valjean?" demanded Enjolras, staring intently at him through large sapphire eyes.

"Um…" said Valjean. He considered Enjolras a bit of a fanatic. He was always hosting meetings in the tavern to discuss and promote various methods of republicanism. Valjean sympathised with his aims but his heart wasn't really in politics. Neither did it hold with him to plot against the king, though that view may be considered old fashioned. Valjean wasn't really a man for physical action. He preferred peaceful negotiation. Of course, he didn't dare tell Enjolras that, fearing a fiery impassioned lecture from the Apollo-like young man. "I've been busy with the vegetable garden…" he tried hesitantly.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Gardening?" he repeated disbelievingly. He ran a hand through his golden curls. Always a bad sign. "You do realise, Valjean, that while you've been watering your runner beans there are people out there starving and repressed, forced into the worst paid jobs due to the stranglehold of bourgeoisie society over the common proletariat? Uneducated, because the rich upper classes fear this will give them ideas above their station? That station essentially being slaves to the capitalist system. Diseased, because the rich refuse to use the money they reserve for dinner parties, balls and fancy clothing to help the men, women and children they rely on as industrial workers to have a better healthcare service. I hope you are aware…" and so on.

"-I do give to charity, Enj." Valjean managed to squeeze in a little defensively.

"Charity!" scoffed Enjolras. "Charity might be beneficial, but long term? Do you ever think about long term? What we need to do is protest for better quality of life for the working class. I know a great many who are willing to lay down their lives to…" At this stage, Valjean stopped paying attention. As stated before, he did not like violence, believing it to make any situation worse.

"Now I used to live in a village, far away, that was ruled by a cruel and heartless man who paid no attention to the sufferings of other," Enjolras continued (Valjean's ears pricked up a little. He loved stories from the outside world - any other place than the simple, boring village he lived in) "But now he's paying for it. One day, a terrible storm came over the village and brambles rose out of the ground and wrapped around the buildings. Totally inhabitable. Those who lived there fled, though I've no idea what became of my friend Grantaire who worked as a servant in the castle. It seems to be utterly deserted, so bleak and cold and impenetrable. The Prince lost everything for his behaviour and so did we. Now, here's a leaflet for the meeting next week."

He shoved it into Valjean's hand before striding off to find another victim to bully into socialism. Valjean had been interested by Enjolras's story, but the main thing that caught his attention was mention of Enjolras' friend Grantaire. Valjean never considered Enjolras to have friends, not because he was a bad person, but because he devoted his whole life to the cause and seemed to be made of cold, emotionless marble when it came to actual real-life people.

Valjean merely gave a shrug, however, and returned to the vicarage. He found Myriel in the kitchen. He was packing his saddle bags with bread, cheese and apples.

"Are you going somewhere, Father?" asked Valjean.

"Yes, Valjean. I am going on a pilgrimage far from here to the holy land. You'll keep up our good work while I'm gone, won't you my boy?"

Valjean's eyes had widen at the thought of travel. "Oh father, please take me with you!"

Myriel smiled kindly. "I know you long to stretch your wings, Valjean. But your time is not here yet. You do not feel the call of the sacred journey - you feel the call of adventure. You will find it all in good time son. Now I really must be gone."

Valjean sighed. He went to fetch his adopted father's soft woollen cloak. "Alright father. Don't forget to send word from time to time so I know your safe." He saddled Victor, their elderly good-natured pony, and watched as his father rode toward the forest and disappeared amongst the trees.

 **HOPE YOU LIKED IT! DO PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW IF YOU DID (OR DIDN'T!) ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

Evening came, and after watering the thriving vegetable garden and collecting the eggs from the chicken coup, Valjean stocked up a nice warm fire and settled before it with his new book. He became absorbed in tales of knights and dragons and far-away lands. He barely noticed as time ticked away into the night.

Suddenly he heard a frantic whinnying at the window. He tossed aside the book and went outside to investigate. Victor had returned and was dancing about the porch in a state of obvious agitation. He was rider-less, the saddle askew against his side, and covered in a sheen of sweat. His unusual blue eyes were rolled back and spit frothed at his mouth.

"Father? Father!" called Valjean, expecting no reply and receiving none. "Oh what has happened Victor?" he moaned in rising panic. His father must have fallen out in the woods and for some reason Victor had bolted. What if he was hurt? It was a very dark and very cold night.

Valjean grabbed Victor's reigns and tried to calm him. Then he re-adjusted the saddle and mounted the horse, setting off at a gallop in the direction Myriel had gone. His heart squeezed a little in fear as he entered the forest and dark shadows loomed menacingly all about him. "Father!" he called now and then. His voice was swallowed up by the darkness. After several hours of searching, Valjean found a soft woollen cloak snagged in a patch of brambles. He recognised it immediately. It was ravaged as though by sharp teeth. Several paw prints were displayed in the mud about the cloak. Valjean understood what had happened. His Father and Victor had been attacked by wolves.

Was his father dead? Valjean could not accept that. He plunged on, refusing to let his mind wander from anything other than the conviction that his father had escaped. The alternative was unbearable.

After several hours of picking through the tree roots in pitch black darkness and bone-chilling cold, Valjean saw a strange dim glow ahead of him. Barely conscious, clinging to the reins with numb clenched fingers, he steered his horse toward the source and came to a huge iron gate. Beyond it was a castle. It was dark, imposing and looked uninhabited save for a single light in the top window of a tower. Valjean was so exhausted and so cold he could no longer make conscious decisions. Instead, his body took control and he dismounted. He slipped through the partially open gate, through the barren garden of frozen fountains and grim statures, until he reached the front door. He raised his hand but it was too numb to knock. He pushed his shoulder against the door and found it open.

Inside was little warmer than out, but the slight temperature change revived Valjean momentarily. He looked around at the bleak stone hall and once-magnificent now-cobwebbed staircase sweeping upward before him. All seemed silent apart from the rustling of owls far up amongst the rafters, invisible in the darkness. Valjean cautiously ascended the staircase. "Hello?". Though he seemed to hear no reply, from somewhere to his left he thought he heard whispering. He looked but there was nothing there. He shook his head and decided he must be delirious. He continued up the stairs onto the corridor above, in which there was a small side door that Valjean thought might lead to the tower. He proceeded up another, smaller, tighter set of steps. He heard the whispering again. When he stopped to listen, it was gone.

After a long climb he reached the top of the stairs and found a large cage in which something was huddled. A candle in the window cast shadows on the heap and turned it into a monstrous beast. Then it stirred and raised its bleary head. "Father!" cried Valjean with joy. He dropped to his knees and embraced Myriel through the bars. The old man was shaking. "No, Jean…" he murmured, his eyes mad with fear. "You must leave, my boy, quickly, before-"

Something grabbed Valjean and hurled him against the cold stone wall. He was winded and stars spun before his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he saw a creature towering over him. "How dare you enter my home." It growled in a voice like thunder. Peering through the shadows at the thing's face, Valjean decided it might well be a man. The hair was thick, matted and wild about his face like a mane. The face itself seemed fixed in a snarl that created a beastlike appearance. His clothes were ragged, filthy and worn, his figure immensely powerful and tall. The man's eyes glowed yellow with rage and his hands clenched. Valjean felt his knees begin to tremble and fear twisted his stomach.

"P-please, sir…what have you done with my father?"

The great hands sliced forward and grasped hold of Valjean's shirt, suspending him painfully against the wall. "I dislike trespassers." Growled the voice.

"I ran from the wolves, Jean…" explained his father hopelessly. "I hoped to find safety in this castle."

"Please, let him go!" Valjean begged. "I'll do anything. He is old and weak. Please release him and let him return home."

"That is not how justice works, boy." spat the beast. "He was on my land, and so are you. No one is permitted to disturb me."

"Then let me take his place! Release him and you can lock me away instead." Valjean cried frantically.

The beast thought for a moment. Then he muttered grudgingly "seems fair." Faster than Valjean could blink, he unlocked the door and tossed Myriel free, before grabbing Valjean by his collar and shoving him in to fill the vacancy.

"Now. Get. Out." breathed the man in a terrifying whisper to Myriel. Myriel trembled and stared miserably at Valjean. "I'll find help, my boy, I swear!" he cried before running down the stairs, through the door, and out to safety.

The beast watched him go through the window. Then he turned and directed a terrible glare at Valjean, before descended the stairs to skulk within deeper darker depths of the castle.

Valjean stared after him for a minute, before collapsing shivering on the cold stone floor of his prison. He gave in to the tears threatening to spill and wept bitterly at his predicament.

 **POOR VALJEAN…CAN YOU GUESS WHICH LES MIS CHARACTER MIGHT BE LUMIÉRE? ;) ;) ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

Valjean lay numbly on the cold dungeon floor for a long time. He had long since stopped considering his predicament. The only thing he could think of was the cold and ways to relieve his suffering. His teeth were clattering together so hard he bit through his lip. Tangy coppery blood seeped down his throat, gloriously warm.

Suddenly, through the deep dark that surrounded him like a heavy woollen cloak, a faint glow of candlelight appeared. At first he thought he was imagining it. But gold was steadily conquering black, so there could be no doubt. Someone was coming up the staircase.

 _Please let it be rescue_ , Valjean prayed.

Then a candelabra hopped into view. Valjean stared. Two pairs of eyes stared right back at him. Then they blinked and a slow smile spread across the candle's face. And then it spoke. "Bonjour!"

Valjean fainted.

A minute later smoke was tickling up his nose. He coughed and wretched.

"Apologies, dear sir! I only wished to revive you." A bright voice piped up beside him.

Valjean remembered and felt his stomach flip. "A-a-are you r…real? Or am I m-m-mad?"

The candle bowed elegantly. "100% real, I assure you. My name is Grantaire. I work here."

"…w-what do you want with me?"

Grantaire folded his candle sticks. "I thought perhaps you might be cold, sir. The master-"

"-the beast?"

"Yes. We – the rest of the staff and I – feel he has served you rather harshly. Why, you might catch pneumonia up here! So, I thought perhaps a hot fire and a warm dinner could make your night a little more comfortable."

Valjean's mind had once again succumbed to the cold, and he no longer had any qualms with accompanying a living candelabra if warmth was the reward.

Grantaire unlocked the cell. Valjean staggered to his feet. His companion winced when his foot clanged against the metal bars. "Best to be silent," he warned with an uneasy smile, "I haven't exactly asked for…permission to release you."

Valjean nodded. "Thank you." He murmured.

"No problem! Now follow me."

Valjean was soon in the presence of a glorious roaring fire. His whole body tingled unpleasantly as the blood returned. He wiggled his fingers and toes, sighed with relief, and sank into a deep red arm chair. Warmth washed over him. Grantaire had disappeared through a little side door which he presumed led to the kitchen. Fatigue had settled like a heavy cloak on his body, and he barely heard the bangs, crashes and voices floating from that direction. He shifted to prop his legs comfortably across the footstool. Then the footrest moved.

Valjean let out a yelp and shot straight up, wide awake. The footstool bounced up at him and then rubbed against his leg. He felt his jaw drop open.

Grantaire popped his head into the room. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite. _Down Marius!"_

Marius the footstool slumped dejectedly like a scolded puppy. Then, with a final sniff at Valjean, it stretched out in front of the fire and fell to sleep.

"Dinner is prepared, sir." said Grantaire, eyes gleaming as though trying to supress his excitement. "If you'd like to follow me!"

Valjean followed him into the dining room, and for about the fourth time that day, he was speechless with astonishment. A huge feast of a dazzling variety of food in all shapes, colours and sizes, lay stretched out before him. The grand oak dining table groaned under the weight. Literally groaned, and kicked out its legs. "I'm dying to stretch my back…" Valjean heard it mutter. It was quickly shushed by Grantaire.

The candelabra led him to a carved oak chair with curling vines twining up its legs. Then a menu was set in front of him.

"May I?" Valjean inquired, gesturing at it.

Grantaire smirked. "Be our guest."

Valjean quickly turned in his seat as the kitchen doors were flung open and an army of kitchen utensils poured forth into the room. The dishes on the table began to trot past him in rows, proudly displaying their contents for selection. Candles twirled and whirled through the air to create a dazzling show of golden light. Grantaire began to sing a lively entertaining song that the napkins danced along to across the table. Valjean promptly tucked in to what was offered, all the while enjoying the spectacle and applauding the performers when necessary.

A brightly painted teapot suddenly appeared in front of him, a chipped tea cup bouncing excitedly up and down beside her.

"Hello dear." Said the teapot warmly. "My name is Cosette. And this is my adopted son Gavroche." She nodded at the cup.

"Nice to meet you." Replied Valjean politely.

"I hope you haven't suffered much at the master's hands. He can be a little ill-mannered at first, I admit, but once you get to know him you'll see it's all just man-bluff! Is it one lump or two?""

Valjean wasn't intending to get to know the master. He was already considering ways to escape. Nonetheless he nodded and accepted the cup of tea preferred by Cosette.

"Hey, look what I can do!" chimed Gavroche from between his palms. The little cup screwed up his nose and blew hard. Big bubbles overflowed from the rim and scalded Valjean's hands. He rapidly put it down.

"Gavroche! Look what you've done to the nice man! Apologise this instance!" admonished Cosette.

Gavroche tried to look contrite. "Sorry."

Valjean didn't buy it. His suspicions were confirmed when Cosette turned away and the cup stuck its little tongue out at him cheekily, before scampering away to cause more mischief.

Valjean smiled and shook his head. Then he helped himself to a large portioned of jelly and returned his attention to Grantaire's little show.

 _"_ _Be our guest, be our guest! If you're stressed, its fine dining we suggest!"_ sang the candelabra. It was at that moment that the name Grantaire seemed vaguely familiar to Valjean, and he strained to recall where he had heard it.

Suddenly, a scuffle distracted his attention. A little clock was trying desperately to disperse the partying cutlery. "Come on, move along, the fun's over!" They paid it no attention.

The clock waddled awkwardly over to Grantaire. It ducked quickly as a tureen backflipped over its head. "Grantaire!" it panted furiously when it reached him. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"Relax, Gillenormand. It is all completely under control."

Gillenormand wheezed and spluttered indignantly. "If the master knew about this! It goes directly against his orders. I'm going to tell him right now!"

Grantaire looked quickly at Valjean, then whispered in the clock's ear _"_ _What if he is the one?"_

"What? What was that? Speak up, you know I'm rather deaf- aaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

A stray spoon had come out of nowhere and whacking him straight across the chest and into the air. He landed with a plop in the jelly.

Grantaire burst out laughing and helped him out. After that, Gillenormand sulked away to find some peace and quiet.

 **I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND HOW I'VE CHANGED CHIP'S CHARACTER A BIT TO MATCH WITH GAVROCHE. ON WITH THE STORY NOW :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, the song was over. The utensils trooped tiredly back to their drawers, whilst the napkins mopped up the mess. Grantaire was whispered frantically with Gillenormand and Cosette in a corner. Every now and then they turned to peer at Valjean.

He began to feel vaguely suspicious. However, he was too full and sleepy to give it that much thought. His head drooped lower onto his chest. His eyes were so heavy…

"Ahem."

A dry cough startled Valjean back awake. Gillnormand the clock was suddenly beside him.

"Allow us to escort you to your room, young man."

Valjean meekly followed the clock, candelabra and teapot down several corridors that had once been grand but were now dark and faded. They came to a sweeping staircase that split in two directions.

"There's a nice clean guest room up here, sir." Cosette hurried him up one side of the stair.

Valjean stopped. "What's up there?" he gestured to the other.

"Oh nothing, nothing!" Grantaire replied hastily.

"It's none of your business." added Gillenormand.

Valjean suddenly burned with curiosity. He peered up to where the sweeping steps were swallowed by murky darkness, and wondered what lay beyond. He said nothing, however. Cosette abruptly bent to examine the carpet in front of her. She gasped in dismay.

"Why Grantaire, you've spilt wax on the carpet!"

Grantaire looked. He was unconcerned. "So I have."

"I'll have to spend hours cleaning it now! Wax is so difficult to get off."

"Why bother?" shrugged Grantaire. "No one's here to see it apart from Valjean."

Gillenormand bristled. "I'm not sure I like that attitude, young man. As my employee I expect-"

"-your employee?" spluttered the candelabra. "Are you suggesting you have a higher status in this castle than I?"

"I _did_ hire you."

"The MASTER hired me. A very long time ago I might add. I have worked hard and earned just as much authority as you."

"Well…I'm older than you."

 _"_ _So?"_

"So you have to listen to me and carry out my wishes."

"Says who?"

"I do."

"Well, that's just-"

"Where's Valjean?" Cosette suddenly interrupted.

The man in question had snuck away the moment they began to argue. By the time they realised he was gone, he had reached the top of the stairs. He was rewarded with the sight of a royal blue door at the end of a passage lined with dusty paintings and portraits. The eyes on the walls seemed to stare at him accusingly as he turned the richly-carved golden door handle.

Valjean's blood was now sizzling with excitement. He yearned to know more about this strange place fate had dropped him in. Where better place to learn than a forbidden wing? Who is this bad-tempered beast of a man, and why are his staff items of talking furniture, were at the top of his question list. He felt slightly guilty at deceiving his new-found friends downstairs. But he had to know. He entered the room.

It was huge – a royal bedchamber – and bitterly bone-bitingly cold. There wasn't a single speck of dust, unlike the rest of the castle. However, almost every piece of furniture in the room had been destroyed. Table and chair legs lay strewn across the floor. Valjean almost cut himself on a scattering of glass shards from a shattered mirror. Torn wallpaper hung in sad drooping tatters like funeral bunting from the walls.

What really caught his attention though, was a massive silver-framed portrait displayed opposite the four-poster bed (the only item in the room that was serviceable). Great clawing rips obscured the face of the figure in the painting. Valjean could almost taste the rage in that act of destruction. Looking at it made goose bumps line his skin. He shivered involuntarily, from the cold and something else.

Moving to shut the large open window responsible for the icy chill, he noticed something on the low mahogany stand beside it. He moved closer. It was a bell jar. A single red rose seemed to float, as though suspended in water, within it. An iridescent glow radiated from its lustrous crimson core. As Valjean watched, a single petal peeled away from the bud. It drifted slowly down to meet a bed of its already-fallen fellows.

Feeling mesmerised, Valjean reached out to the jar. Magic lay in a thick protective cloak about the glass, resistant to his touch like syrup. He reached harder and felt his fingers brush against the object. A tingle sparkled up his palm. He gasped, and was about to lift the jar when-

 _"_ _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"_

Something hurled him bodily to the floor with an inhuman roar of fury. Dazed and winded, he gazed up at that looming monstrous figure he so dreaded. The man stared back at him with the panicked wild eyes of a caged animal. For a while he simply towered over him, breathing heavily with clenched fists trembling at his sides. Then he swept around to examine the rose.

Valjean could only see his back, but it seemed to him as though his captor was caressing it, whispering to it, comforting it. His gentle posture was so unexpected it left him stunned. Then the beast remembered him again.

" _How dare_ you enter my private quarters!" it snarled at him with a voice of poisoned loathing. " _How dare_ you touch my rose! How have you escaped your cell?"

Valjean suddenly felt a rush of anger. He was a peaceful man by nature, but not a coward. And this man had no right to keep him locked away and treat him like this. Who did he think he was? Perhaps he had some status long ago, but certainly not anymore. "Did you expect me to sit quietly there for the rest of my days?" he spat.

"ANSWER MY QUESTION!"

"No."

The sunken haunted face turned livid with rage. With a growl, the beast swung at the man below him. Valjean grabbed a chair leg and managed to the catch the blow. The impact still made his bones shudder. _"_ _You cannot keep me here!"_

"YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!"

"I have done nothing save try to rescue my father, a poor old man searching for shelter, who you imprisoned. You are a _monster_!"

The man stopped, his arm in the air mid second-swing. "No. I am cursed." He grunted softly.

Valjean took advantage of his sudden calm to race past him out the door. He ran down the corridor and down the stairs. He could hear the beast pounding after him, roaring with surprised anger. He realised he was nearing the room Cosette had allocated him. With a last burst of speed he shot through the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it fast and leaning his weight against it. Not a moment later a heavy body crashed against the wood.

"COME OUT THIS INSTANT, TRESPASSER!"

"My name is Valjean. And while you're screaming like that, I most certainly will not!"

"…you'll have to come out sooner or later. There is no escape from this castle for you. You are my prisoner."

Valjean said nothing.

" _FINE!_ YOU CAN _STARVE_ , AND GOOD RIDDENCE TO YOU!" The heavy footsteps stomped away again.

Valjean let out a breath of pure relief. Dimly, he noticed his knees were knocking together. As soon as they calmed he ran to the window and peered out. It was a very, very, _very_ long way down. Ice coated every sill and tile. He knew it would be a treacherous and slippery descent should he attempt it. He decided he was not yet desperate enough to do so. With a sigh, he looked out over the castle grounds and trees, to where a glimmer of pink in the deep blue sky showed dawn was on its way. He wondered where his father was now. Had he made it back to the village? Would anyone come to save him?

Valjean felt a deep emptiness and isolation weigh upon his shoulders. He had yearned for adventure, it was true, but not to be locked up in an enchanted castle with a potentially homicidal maniac for a jailer. He let his head drop into his hands.

"There, there, dear." said a female voice right behind him.

Valjean didn't even look round. "Oh God, why will none of you let me alone?"

"Well that's rather rude." the voice sounded offended. "I was merely going to say that feeling sorry for yourself won't get you anywhere. But go ahead and mope – don't mind me!"

Valjean sighed and turned wearily to address the talking wardrobe behind him. "Forgive me, madam. It has been a long day."

"Hmm." said the wardrobe. "I suppose you have. I'm Eponine, your maid."

Valjean panicked slightly. "Oh no, really. Its very kind of you, but I don't need a maid. I'm just a poor boy from the provinces and a prisoner here actually, not a guest. I really can dress myself, but thank you anyw-"

"Get over here right now, young man." If Eponine had hands, they would have been firmly planted on her hips.

"Honestly, there's no nee-"

"Here. Now."

Her tone was rather frightening. Valjean reluctantly obeyed.

"That's better. Take a clean nightshirt and trousers from my drawer and go into the bathroom. A nice hot bath has been prepared. You will bathe, dress, brush your teeth and go straight to bed. Lights out will be in half an hour. I shall prepare a fresh new outfit for you to wear tomorrow. Now chop-chop."

Valjean gulped and followed her instructions to the letter. He couldn't deny that it was marvellously comfortable to sink between the clean-sheets, wearing a soft cotton shirt against his skin still warm and pink from the scented bathtub. He was fast asleep in seconds.

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR READING! I'LL TRY AND ADD SOME MORE CHAPTERS SOON.**


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